Hawk’s Nest, Colorado

When Abigail received the call from General Shapiro in Tel Aviv, it was early afternoon, mountain standard time. She vaguely knew who General Shapiro was, but her heart dropped like a brick when she heard his voice. After all these years expecting a call or a knock on the door, while Josh had run dangerous missions or tested new aircraft, a call never came. But today it did.

“I regret to inform you, Mrs. Jordan, that your husband has gone missing in the Negev desert.”

“Missing … I don’t understand …”

“His convoy was attacked. The attackers were dressed like Israeli soldiers. We believe he has been taken hostage.”

“By who? Where is he now?”

“Our best intelligence is that he is now somewhere inside Iran. We believe the Iranian government is behind this.”

“The American embassy … have you contacted them … or the Pentagon?”

“We have contacted the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency and the Pentagon.”

“What are they doing about it?”

“We have every confidence that they will assist us in trying to locate and extract your husband.”

Her words were trembling. “Oh, dear God, please protect my husband …” Then in the next breath she asked General Shapiro, “Deborah, my daughter …”

“She’s safe. She’s with Colonel Kinney’s wife, Esther.”

“I have to get over there, General, to Israel …”

“I wouldn’t advise that, Mrs. Jordan — ”

“A rescue plan. We need one immediately.”

“We’re working on that. I promise we will keep you informed minute by minute.”

Shapiro had no more information. When Abigail hung up, she stood in the middle of the big family room and shrieked Cal’s name.

He had been working close by outside, repairing a section of broken railing on the big wraparound porch. Now that his father was overseas, he was taking care of a few repairs that his dad had planned on doing.

Cal sprinted through the front door. He found his mother with her hands over her face, shaking as she sobbed. Abigail blurted through her tears, “Your dad’s in trouble. He’s been grabbed by terrorists. They think he’s being held hostage in Iran …”

Cal reeled and his face drained. When he caught his breath he asked, “Who’s going to get him out?”

“The Israelis are working on it … waiting to hear from Washington.”

Abigail wiped her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. She and Cal locked eyes. Instinctively, they had the same thought.

Cal voiced it first. “No way, Mom … we can’t wait for the politicians or the White House. They’ve been gunning for Dad. They’ll let him twist in the wind …”

“Exactly. I’m calling Rocky Bridger. He was invaluable during your crisis at Grand Central Station.”

“How about John Gallagher?”

“Can’t afford to take him off task. What he’s doing for us right now is critical to American security.”

“So it’s true then … what Gallagher had me researching, about Russia, a nuclear threat?”

For Abigail it all fell together. Cal’s working on his computer. His desire to contribute to the Roundtable effort. She offered him a simple reply to his question. “Yes. It’s true.”

As she looked at her son, she knew that a convergence of circumstances had now brought him into the inner sanctum. She also knew that there were no accidents, not in a universe governed by a God who directed the destinies of people as well as nations.

“Welcome to the Roundtable,” she said.